Creatures of Habit
by IReadAndWriteSometimes
Summary: Alice accuses Lucien of being a creature of habit. He doesn't mind one bit... and neither does Jean.


Hello, everybody. I've so far only posted Major Crimes fanfiction, and maybe some of you even know me from there, but my partner in crime, the absolutely wonderful _escapewithstories_ , has been on my case about dipping my writing toe into this amazing fandom for months now, and I've finally plucked up the courage to do so. I've also been pestering her with my insecurities once I started working on this, so I'd just like to take a moment to thank her for her patience and constant support on this. You are amazing.

This was originally going to have a lot more Alice in it, since I simply adore her (almost as much as Jean and Lucien), but naturally, our two lovebirds kinda took over everything and this dissolved into a big fluffy one-shot revolving around them. I will stop talking your ear off now, and just let you get down to reading. I hope you enjoy it. :)

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CREATURES OF HABIT

Lucien doesn't open his eyes when he wakes up. Instead, he shuts them more tightly, lest the pounding in his head grew worse. All that accomplishes is to send a sharp stinging pain through his eyebrow. He extricates a hand from between the sheets and tentatively pads a finger over the sore spot, revealing a scab that had barely even begun to form.

With a quiet groan he turns onto his back, then onto his other side. Blindly, he reaches a hand out across the bed, and it is then that he finally cracks his eyes open, confused and surprised.

Jean wasn't in bed, and more alarmingly, if the coolness of her side of the sheets is anything to go by, her bedside had been empty for a while now. Still dazed from sleep and his searing headache, it takes him a moment to even try to unravel the mystery of her absence. He lifts his eyes to the windows, and soon enough finds his answer. The darkness of their bedroom was artificial. It's the drapes that are keeping the daylight outside, and he had slept long past breakfast. More accurately, Jean had let him sleep long past breakfast.

That curls a corner of his mouth into a smile and he reaches for her pillow. He had arrived home well after midnight, perhaps a couple of hours before dawn. He'd forgone a shower, he remembers, and he is not entirely sure whether his teeth had seen a toothbrush. He had just changed out of his clothes and slipped into bed next to her. As he digs his face into her pillow and inhales deeply, he recalls her being awake, or possibly woken by him, when he snaked an arm around her waist and tucked his face into her neck. She had only asked, "Case closed?" and settled into him, letting sleep take over again once he nodded in affirmation and kissed her neck goodnight.

He closes his eyes again and buries his face deeper into her pillow, the mere thought of getting up is enough to exhaust him all over again. As he does this, another sharp sting of pain shoots through his eyebrow and suddenly his eyes fly open again.

Jean is going to kill him. It's a wonder she hadn't suffocated him with a pillow when she woke up that morning. Or at least hit him over the head with it when she saw his face. He had again gotten into a scuffle with a suspect, or as was the case the previous night, with their perpetrator, and he'll be carrying the reminders for at least a week.

"And I smell," he mumbles, not that anyone but him is listening, and finally scoots to the edge of the bed to get ready for the day.

He takes his time in the shower, and after inspecting the angry bruise that had formed over a side of his forehead and temple, he cleans up the scab across his eyebrow and places a patch over it, more in hopes of not further upsetting Jean than of hurrying along the healing. Once he is dressed and his hair is done, he finally goes on his trek through the house in search of his other (better) half.

When he walks down the hallway leading into the kitchen, his ears prickle at the sound of low, female chattering, two voices if he had to guess, and he instinctively squares his shoulders. It is Saturday morning, he had hoped to have a quiet day for once.

He can't make out what is being said, but the moment the women notice his footsteps, their voices die down and a pointed silence falls over them. The stares they direct at him have him take pause at the threshold, and awkwardly he smooths down his vest and addresses their guest seated at the table. "Good morning, Alice." There's a touch of wonder to his greeting.

The woman exchanges a quick look with his wife, who busies herself with the kettle on the stove, and there is not enough time for Lucien to make sense of whatever it meant, because Alice offers a quick, tight smile. "Good morning."

"I ran into Alice in town this morning." Jean turns around, a fresh cup of tea in her hands, and it strikes Lucien that she did not offer him a good morning herself, but then again, he hadn't offered her one either. She steps toward the table, placing the cup at his usual spot, and shrugs, her tone matter-of-fact. "So I've invited her over for tea."

Lucien realizes he is still standing in the doorway and finally forces his feet to carry him over to the table. "I see," he says, a bit disappointed that Jean does not wait for him to reach her, but returns to the spot she held at the stove prior to his arrival.

As he carefully places his hands around the hot cup, he can't help but feel slightly out of place, as if he'd interrupted something, but Alice doesn't let his thoughts linger too long on that. "Late night?"

His eyes snap up to hers. Is she mocking him? He can't always tell with her. Her part of the job the day before may have ended long before his, but surely she knew, as must the rest of town by now, how and when their case had finally come to a close.

Jean saves him from an answer, an affirmative hum on her lips, but a rather stern expression on her face. "However, unlike Matthew, Lucien had the luxury of sleeping in."

Uh-oh. His head whirls around to look at her, leaning against the counter, watching him with piercing eyes. He was getting the feeling that luxury would cost him dearly. Her tone sounded ominous enough and that hint of a smile he detected did not offer any comfort either. He swallows, masks his unease with a nervous half chuckle, half cough. "I'm taking a sick day." He points a hand at his face, but looks intensely at his tea, his eyes only momentarily darting to his wife.

"I see," Jean says and finally takes a seat at the table as well, her hands smoothing out her skirt in the process. _She_ is most definitely mocking him, of that Lucien has no doubt.

It doesn't help to see an amused smile flash across Alice's features, too. "Wise decision," she says, and this time he doesn't doubt that Alice is mocking him as well. "Best make sure you haven't suffered a concussion."

He tries for a charming smile. "Just a mild headache." He lifts his tea cup and eyes Jean. "Nothing this won't cure."

For a moment, he thinks she's about to smile, or at least duck her head to hide it, but the moment is gone in the next instant and the two women turn to their respective teas. They take their sips in silence while Lucien's wheels start turning.

He is in hot waters with Jean, he is well aware of that. It does not strike him as odd that Alice has caught onto as much either. What befuddles him is that Alice seems to be in on slightly more than just the fact that he had managed to irk his wife again. After all, Jean isn't one to air their dirty laundry in front of others, and the notion that she may have made an exception that morning leaves a bitter aftertaste in his mouth that has nothing to do with the tea he swallowed. Perhaps it is best not to attempt to untangle that particular mystery, however. He settles on trying to get back into Jean's good graces as soon as possible. "Thank you for letting me sleep in." He smiles sheepishly and reaches for her hand. "I apologize for missing breakfast," he adds, trying not to take offense that she had not yet, as usual, offered or already served him a breakfast plate.

"Oh, that's fine." Jean waves him off with a flick of her other hand, her tone light and dismissive enough for Lucien to believe her. He tries not to read too much into the fact that she does not let his hand linger on hers but instead uses it to take another sip of her tea.

But then out of the corner of his eyes, he notices the brief upturn of Alice's eyebrow, and quickly he shoots her a narrow-eyed look, and then it hits him, so hard he actually leans into the back of his chair. _Fine_. That had been his description of matters late the previous night, after he had received several blows to the head from their now locked up criminal, when he had called her to tell her not to wait up, that he'd be later than anticipated and there was no need for her to lose sleep as well.

He gulps and stands corrected. He appears to be in _scalding_ hot waters with his wife. Only he has no idea how to paddle out of them, especially with Alice watching with such blatant interest and worst of all, amusement. But propriety, privacy and whatnot be damned. He's not above begging. "Jean," he begins, and tilts his head to the side, pleadingly looking at her. Hesitant to reach out for her hand again, he quells the itching of his fingers to do so anyway by dragging them across the table surface instead. "This is nothing, darling. I'd have told you if it was.

At that Alice outright snorts, and he glares at her, both offended and confused. She goes on to ignore him, curling her fingers delicately around the tea cup handle, and addresses Jean instead. "It _is_ just as you described." There is a touch of intrigue to her words, not unlike the few times he was privy to it when they worked a particularly convoluted case. He expects her to elaborate, his intact eyebrow certainly lifts in askance, but she just sips on her tea, a self-satisfied smirk on her face as she shares a nearly wicked look with Jean.

He frowns, looking between the two women in bewilderment. "Described?" He keeps his tone light and humorous, but when they just exchange a set of secretive smiles, he shuffles back in his chair, growing both defensive and argumentative. "May I know what it is exactly," his tone is artificially chipper, but there is no masking the suspicion in it, "that you two lovely ladies have been up to while I was asleep?"

Jean answers. "If you must know," her tone indicates she is indulging him here and he best be grateful for it, "we may have been," she pauses deliberately, and a knowing look passes between her and Alice, "exchanging war stories."

Lucien's jaw drops. Not because they were, in other words, gossiping. His Jean might not call it that, but she knew entirely too much about the town's goings on for him to call it anything else. Shocking was that _he_ had been the topic of this particular round.

Alice chips in, her voice muffled ever so slightly by the cup lingering in front of her lips, but undoubtedly also carrying trouble. "Comparing notes, too."

Like a fish on dry land, his mouth closes then drops open again. For several moments he is grasping for words to say as he tries to remember whether he had managed to scorn his good assistant as well somehow. When nothing comes to mind, defeated, he takes a deep breath and asks, "Should I be concerned?"

"I've let you waste away the morning, haven't I?" Jean offers matter-of-factly.

He sputters for a rebuttal, but she is right. He had been allowed to sleep in, and certainly she would have been less inclined to do soif she were as angry as he feared she was. It's when Alice laughs that he stops trying to find a retort, and he quizzically turns his head in her direction.

The woman is, however, focused on Jean, her stiff posture and frown a mixture of awe, amusement and confusion. "Let?" she questions.

A small, self-satisfied smile tugs at Jean's lips. She tilts her head at Alice, directing her reply at her, but her eyes never leave Lucien's. "Yes."

Lucien swallows. He is too concerned now to make sense of Alice's incredulous chuckle and instead prods Jean further with a, "But?" He dreads her response, but suppresses a grimace that would make his dread obvious, and instead just keeps his tone politely curious.

"And," Jean pointedly corrects him and gestures at the woman next to her, "Alice has offered to take over for a couple of days." A small smirk plays at her lips. "You know," she waves a hand at him and finally tears her eyes off his, "just in case you do have a concussion."

"Right," he drawls, not appreciating her patronizing attitude in the least. He relaxes back in his chair, crossing his arms as he regards them. "What about the surgery?"

Jean shrugs a single shoulder, but looks at Alice purposefully. Sufficiently prompted, the woman squares her shoulders. "I can," the two words leave her exceptionally loudly and her eyes momentarily widen when she notices, so she quickly lowers her voice to a more natural pitch and glances at Jean whose mouth briefly twitches into a smug, but supportive smile, "look after the dead in your stead, but there is no need for you to neglect the living. Especially since you will be," Alice grows more confident and quirks an amused eyebrow at Jean, "under careful supervision here."

With that Lucien realizes that since Matthew did not deem disciplining him necessary, Jean has decided to do so herself. The thought of asking whether this falls under new marital obligations crosses his mind, but he's much too surprised by her conniving for him to actually pose the question. Alice's partaking only stupefies him further, however, he knows one thing;

he'd much rather Matthew suspended him than give in to his wife's idea of punishment. "But we-" He is not sure what to say when he starts speaking, and by the time he decides, he has to repeat himself. He hates that the women smile in amusement when he does. "But we have only just returned from our honeymoon." He looks at Jean, a slight smirk on his face for he is sure his next argument will dissuade her. "What will it look like if I go on another holiday, barely a week into my return?"

Jean lets out a dismissive puff of air. "Only at the morgue, Lucien." There is no room for nonsense in her tone. "A single day away from there won't kill anyone."

"Well," Alice suddenly says at length, the expression on her face the epitome of 'don't be so sure of that', but she quickly shakes her head and, properly chastised, focuses on her teacup when Jean all but slaps her with a sharp look.

But it is too late. Lucien's already barked out a victorious laugh. Jean's look remains sharp, however, and she purses her lips, displeased, and for a reason he might never understand, that is enough for his resolve to fade away, and he relents after all, reaching for her hand again. "Alright," he squeezes her fingers and fights back a smile when she tangles them with his and squeezes back, "if this is what you want, I will take a break until Tuesday."

For a moment he is enraptured by the pleased smile that blossoms on his wife's face, but the moment is shattered when Alice fails to stifle a laugh. He releases Jean's hand and looks at her, utterly confused. "Yes?" he prods, slightly exasperated with the woman now.

And then, to his astonishment, it is Jean that responds, her voice shaking with laughter, but directed at Alice. "I told you, did I not?"

Alice slides her tea neatly over the table and shakes her head, looking at Lucien with wide eyes. "You did indeed," she says, but there is almost a questioning lilt to her response and it is as if she expects the answer to miraculously appear on Lucien's face.

Lucien grows uncomfortable under the doctor's far off gaze, and his brow furrows, wondering what was going through her head. Unable to stand it any longer, he finally clears his throat, startling Alice out of her musings. "What?" He didn't mean to bark out the word quite the way he did, but he is a tad too vexed just then to bother with apologies.

Alice opens her mouth to respond, inhaling a slightly startled breath in the process, but no words come forth and she mirrors Lucien's frown. "I," she tries, but again fails to find her words, and her shoulders sag in embarrassment. Whatever went through her mind, she then decides to let go of, and instead she finds her confidence, eyeing Jean with sarcastic disappointment. "Men are predictable indeed." It is a conclusion, as if based on an experiment. "Creatures of habit."

A multitude of arguments overflows Lucien's mind, but he is entirely too chagrined to give any of them proper voice. Instead, all he manages is a strangled gasp and an affronted look he alternates between his wife and his colleague.

"They do learn, however," Jean says, her gaze soft and warm when she directs it at Lucien.

Alice's eyebrows draw together in a display of continued scepticism. "Slowly," she deadpans.

Jean laughs, her eyes sparkling as if that fact did not concern her all that much, and Lucien realizes he had grown used to Jean getting her way with him long before they even fell in love with each other, and he doesn't mind that that's remained the case since. Besides, if it keeps Jean laughing so happily and with such ease, then he will gladly remain her predictable creature of habit.

"Anyhow," Alice rises from her seat, "I must get going." She smiles at Jean. "Thank you for the tea." She eyes Lucien, amused. "And the laughs."

Jean actually giggles, standing as well. "We must do this more often."

Following suit and getting to his own feet, Lucien teases, "Not _too_ often." The two women getting along so well puts a pleased smile on his face, but there is also a touch of genuine dread in him as he imagines what they could get up to if they spent too much time together.

Alice smirks, starting to walk to the kitchen doorway. "I will see you on Tuesday, Doctor Blake," she says pointedly.

He rubs a hand over the back of his head, waving the other one at her. "Certainly."

Jean walks Alice out to the front door, and when she returns to the kitchen she finds Lucien leaning against the kitchen counter, greeting her with a smile. "They do learn?" he questions. Now that they are alone he would appreciate more details.

Jean laughs, throwing her head back. " _Very_ slowly," she tells him, briskly crossing the kitchen until she is standing right in front of him and can trace the buttons of his vest.

He momentarily loses his train of thought and lets his head tilt down to follow her fingers' movement. "So you're grounding me?"

"And buying you a dictionary," Jean says, lightly tapping her fingers across his abdomen in admonishment.

"I have several in my office," he retorts, lifting his head to look at her, the smirk on his face teasing.

She rolls her eyes, but her gaze softens when they focus on the bruise and covered up scab on his face. "This," she raises a hand and feather-lightly brushes her fingers over them, "is not _fine_."

He shrugs, because he knows she has made up her mind and there is no changing her conclusion. He hopes his smile will alleviate a bit of her worry.

She smiles back, her hand trailing a path through his bearded cheek. "Are you in pain?" Her tone is soft and quiet, but she is not going to accept sugarcoating.

He catches her hand. "Have a pounding headache," he mumbles as he nuzzles and kisses her palm.

"Good," she suddenly says, and when he stares at her in surprise she adds, "perhaps you will try avoiding blows to the head in the future then."

Her words are sharp, she is not impressed with him at all, but there is still enough of a hint of teasing in them that Lucien dares tug her closer to him by her hand to peck her lips before saying, "I promise."

His reward is another eye roll, even as she smiles. "Alice just accused me of being a creature of habit myself," she says quietly, her fingers wrapping around his.

Lucien's interest is piqued and he lifts his uninjured eyebrow. "She did?" He sounds more pleased than he would have liked.

Jean is not a fan of his tone either. She glares at him for a second, then finally admits, "She may have been on to something."

"Ah." A smile spreads over his face. "How so?" His voice is laced with suppressed laughter.

She grabs the bottom of his vest, lightly tugging on it. "New habits," is all she offers in answer.

Oh, he knows where she is going with this now, and is almost giddy as he more challenges than prods. "Such as?"

There is a flash of defiance in Jean's eyes, as if she will not admit to the obvious just to spite him. It is quickly replaced with exasperation, at herself if Lucien had to guess, because she gives the heavens a brief look before planting a hand on the back of his head and almost by force pulling his face to hers.

By the time their lips meet, Lucen is grinning from ear to ear, so much actually that at first she finds nothing but teeth. It takes him less than an instant, however, to catch on and respond to her hungry kiss.

When they part only enough to catch their breath, his hands are dipping low over the swell of her bottom, keeping her impossibly close to him while hers have made a mess of the hair on the back of his head.

His eyes are still closed when she pulls back further to speak. "There may be a more selfish reason behind your punishment," she whispers, gently straightening the mess she had made of his hair.

His eyes fly open, immediately intrigued. "Is that so?" he asks in a singsong voice, folding his hands behind her lower back, not letting her retreat any further.

"I haven't seen you in nearly a week!" she exclaims.

He is startled by the high pitch of her tone, it isn't one he hears from Jean often, if ever, but he soon smiles obscenely at her, for nothing strokes his ego quite as much as the fact that this beautiful creature is not only willingly standing in his arms just then, she misses it when she isn't. It is true, however, that they have barely seen each other since returning from their honeymoon. The case Matthew had dragged him off to the day they came home had kept him occupied most of the time until that morning. And after four months of uninterrupted togetherness, he has missed her just as terribly the past week. However, he will bask in her words, her need and want for him a little while longer, and will not admit as much just yet. "In no need of a holiday from me yet?" he asks.

She purses her lips, no doubt seeing straight through his little charade, but she indulges him, and God smite him if he doesn't love her all the more for it. "Never," she says, pressing her lips to his again, his eyes immediately falling shut until she pulls away, parting with a soft nibble at his lower lip. "A holiday from this?" She brushes her fingers gingerly across his injuries again. "Perhaps. But from you? N-"

He interrupts her with another kiss, and she gasps in surprise, but he only takes that as opportunity to tease her upper lip with a stroke of his tongue. When she grasps his face, he lets her set the pace and relaxes into the languid kiss she opts for. "I missed you, too," he mumbles when they part and he rests his forehead against hers.

"I know," she says, her smile revealing she had indeed been perfectly aware of that.

He grins back because that means he had been successful. Although the case had kept him occupied, he had tried to let her know she was still his priority. With little things. Stealing a flower or two from her sunroom—because he would never dare insult her by buying some from a florist's shop—and leaving them for her to find around the house. Lingering in bed in the morning with his arms wrapped around her for a few moments before they absolutely had to get up and go about their day. Getting kisses out of her, some longer than others, depending on company, even when he only breezed through the house on his way to chase down some lead or another. "Time to make up for it then." He nuzzles her neck, his lips taking a path all down to her collarbone. "Catch up," he mumbles.

She enjoys his attentions for a moment, her senses naturally leaving her now that she knows what he can do when he doesn't have to hold back. It is with a sigh that she finally reaches for his face and pries it away from her. He looks at her smugly, no doubt pleased with the blush that had spread over her face and chest. Her fingers twitch against his cheeks, she cannot bring herself to chastise him any more than that. "You spoiled me."

There is a hint of annoyance and complaint to her words, but Lucien just laughs. "I spoiled you, eh?" He sounds just a tad proud of himself.

She lets out a frustrated huff of air, but she does not release his face. In fact her thumbs start gently rubbing his coarse beard. "I used to be perfectly content going about my business while you were out playing detective, but after," she trails off, blushing even more.

"Insatiable, are you?" Lucien is mocking her even though he couldn't agree more.

She shrugs fractionally, a guilty smile appearing on her features. More seriously, she says, "You will go to work on Monday," her eyes flicker to his bruises, "I only ask that you keep out of trouble when you do."

He relaxes, glad that she wasn't as mad at him as he feared she was, but he frowns a little as well. The scene from a few minutes ago was rather well orchestrated for it to have been nothing but a ruse. "I thought you and Alice were serious about," he drops his gaze to his hands as he moves them to her hips, "benching me?"

Jean laughs, disagreeing. "I may have become a little caught up in her," she pauses, a small crease forming between her brows, and she sounds slightly astonished when she continues, "sense of mischief."

Lucien thinks there is plenty of mischief in Jean alone, but he keeps that to himself. Instead, he agrees, a tad wondrous, "There is some mischief about her, isn't there?"

"No wonder you two work so well together," Jean says on another laugh. "Surely she can stir up trouble as easily as you."

"Oh," his voice dips lower, "more trouble even." He squeezes her hips and adds conspiratorially, "She is much less obvious about it, too."

"I believe that." Her voice shakes a little with more laughter, and her hands finally fall from his cheeks to his shoulders as she adds, "I may have made the poor woman a bit uncomfortable this morning." She fixes her eyes on her hand that brushes away imaginary lint off his shoulder and shakes her head. "And she was simply trying to be polite."

Lucien's brow furrows. "How so?"

"Your face this morning," she looks disdainfully at his scab and bruise, "may have still been fresh on my mind," she grimaces briefly, "when she asked how life was treating us after," she is quoting now, "'four months of uninterrupted post-wedding bliss'."

Lucien's eyebrows quirk up. "I see." He waves a hand at the tea covered table behind her. "Hence the tea invitation."

"Mhm," Jean confirms, avoiding his eyes.

"That still does not explain her role in your conspiracy earlier," he asks, genuinely curious. Alice wasn't one to get engrossed in other people's business just for the heck of it.

"Oh," Jean chuckles and meets his eyes again, "apparently you have been particularly territorial at work since your return, and," she bites her lip, as if unsure whether she ought to share this or not, "she had grown used to slightly freer reign in the morgue."

The sound he emits is between a scoff and a laugh. "But I am the creature of habit?"

She pats his beard condescendigly. "Oh, you are, my love."

He attempts to playfully nip at her hand in retaliation, but she is quicker than him and hides it away safely by tucking her fingers between two buttons of his vest. "So you two were just pulling my leg?" He tries to sound hurt, but his amusement prevails.

She bites her lip, her fingers picking at his vest. "A little."

"How devious," he says, mock offended. When she just grins, rather proud of herself, he adds, "Well, far be it from me then not to indulge in these habits."

He does not wait for her to even try to process his words, but merely proceeds to demonstrate by catching her lips in another searing kiss. When her fingers curl into the lapel of his vest, pulling him closer, he smiles, a part of him wishing she and Alice had been serious about grounding him till Tuesday, because he wouldn't mind spending all that free time doing just this.

 _Just this_ is cut short, however, when Jean pulls back, putting some distance between them by pushing a couple of fingers against his sternum. Thirsty for more though, he blindly follows her retreating lips, failing to latch onto anything but air, and only when Jean chuckles and pushes her fingers a bit harder against his chest does he reluctantly stop and open his eyes to see what on earth she could find worth this interruption.

She is still smiling when she reveals her new topic of conversation with a question. "What kind of colleague are you?" There's an exceptionally curious melody to it.

He is only half-listening, too distracted by the smile still tugging at her delicious lips. "What kind of," he starts and his eyes slowly lift to hers, discovering a loose lock of hair on their route. Losing his train of thought again, he doesn't even realize that his question remains unfinished. He instead just tucks the stray strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering there, and trails off.

She laughs an exasperated kind of laugh, one he had heard plenty of times, especially over the last four months, for this wasn't the first time that he had become a bit too absorbed in the taste or appearance of her to take notice of anything else. "Colleague," she says, then pats his cheek to get him to pay attention as she fully repeats her earlier question. "What kind of colleague are you?"

"Colleague?" he repeats stupidly, this time, however, not because he is distracted, but because he honestly isn't following her thinking. "What do you mean?" he adds over a furrowed brow, and even leans back as if just properly looking at her face will offer more context.

Her hand lowers to allow her thumb to trace the line of his jaw as she decides how to elaborate. Lucien is tempted to just drop the subject altogether and kiss her again when her hand snakes around his neck and she starts teasing the hairs at his nape, but she finally figures out how to explain herself and says, "Are you bossing her around all the time?"

He instantly barks out a laugh, throwing his head back in the process. When that has her remove her hand from the back of his neck, he quickly straightens and sobers, squeezing her hips apologetically. "No. She assists in autopsies most of the time, obviously," he says this matter-of-factly, then shakes his head, "but any other time I tell her to do something, rest assured it is because she is kind enough to do so, not because I order her to." For the sake of his argument, he decides not to mention that most of the time she also enjoys their work entirely too much to worry about or care who, if anyone, is issuing orders.

Jean hums, an unvoiced question in the sound, and returns her hand to his neck.

When she just watches her hand contemplatively, Lucien raises an eyebrow, ducking his head to catch her eye. "Why do you ask?"

She shrugs, flashing a momentary smile. "She was quite surprised to see you give in to my," she pauses, rolling her eyes over her next word, "demands." She shrugs once more, but this time playfully. "I told her I have my ways. However," she grows slightly more serious, "she seemed to be under the impression that you are much too stubborn to give in to them."

His mouth forms a silent, eye opening 'Oh.' Suddenly, his entire encounter with the woman makes sense. The knowing glances and smiles exchanged with his wife and the awkward surprise and disbelief that seemed so at odds with each other in light of their general mocking suddenly don't confuse him anymore. Alice was merely used to a different dynamic at work. She wasn't privy to the dynamic that had developed between him and Jean long before he even considered putting a ring on her finger.

Jean giggles at his dumbstruck reaction, her fingers briefly pressing into the flesh of his neck.

His entire hairline seems to shift as he is pulled out of his thoughts and his features relax, marvelling at the carefree sound, but he feigns resignation, as if to an entirely too glum fate, and starts on a sigh, "Yes," he even hangs his head in mock disappointment, "the truth is out. I have no say even in my own home."

Her fingers twitch at his neck, the only hint of her initial indignation at the implication, before she lets out an amused laugh. "Your poor reputation," she is still laughing, although she shakes her head now, too, "shattered beyond repair now."

He nods enthusiastically, then completely seriously, with wide eyes, asks, "How ever will I face the woman again?"

When she just laughs again, he finally cracks a smile himself. It is another thing he wouldn't mind doing for a few days—listening to her laugh. Her voice is still laced with amusement, when she slowly sobers and says, "Your reputation has received worse blows." The way her eyebrow momentarily quirks upwards, has Lucien inwardly wince and his smile falters, because yes, it really has, but it is as if she reads his mind, for her voice softens and she adds encouragingly, "You'll recover from this one in no time."

She removes her hand from around his neck and places both on his forearms, preparing to step out of his embrace, to clean up after their guest, Lucien thinks, but he tightens his grip on her hips and pulls her back before she can take even half a step. "Where do you think you're going?" He locks his hands behind her back and pulls her flush against him, grinning when she instinctively braces herself by holding onto his shoulder. Her surprised little gasp has him take further advantage and he captures her lips between his.

He likes that she seems a little flustered and that she fails to suppress a small, pleased smile when he releases her lips. He is about to be all smug about it, but then his stomach suddenly rumbles, and she instantly dissolves into giggles.

He groans at the ruined moment, but grins when in her amusement she drops her head to his chin and holds onto his sides, her shaking shoulders the only indicator of her continued laughter. Petulantly, he rolls his eyes then and grumbles, "Yes, I'm hungry."

She lifts her head to look at him, no longer laughing, but pulls herself closer to him by clutching his sides more firmly. "I thought you might be," she tells him in slight self-satisfaction. " _That_ 's where I was thinking of going."

"Oh," he lets out lamely, his hold on her slackening.

She smiles and pecks his lips quickly, humming smugly as she finally steps out of his embrace without his objections. When she reaches the cabinet with plates, she eyes Lucien coyly. "There's dessert, too."

Just like that, he's recovered from his embarrassment, and in barely a second, he is behind her, his hunger forgotten and his breath hot behind her ear. "How about we jump right to that, my love?" he asks, brushing his lips and beard against her sensitive skin.

With a clatter, she only just manages to deposit the recovered plate to the counter without breaking it, before melting into him and exposing her neck to him.

He grins, his earlier smugness back, and nuzzles her neck, inhaling the enticing scent of her and wrapping his arms greedily around her. When he places an open mouthed kiss to the juncture of her neck and collarbone, dipping his tongue into the hollow he finds there, she audibly whimpers, and his grin widens. He releases her skin only to marvel at the taste of her for a moment, intent on resuming his attentions immediately, but she takes the opportunity to turn around and face him. He smirks when he sees the want in her eyes matching his, and only manages a low rumbled, "Delicious," before her lips are on his and it is Jean's turn to get a taste of their dessert.

One of her hands finds purchase on the back his neck, while the other explores the beard on his cheek on its way to his hair. In the process, her thumb presses a tad too enthusiastically against the bruised skin around his temple, and he hisses involuntarily at the sudden stab of pain it causes, interrupting her tasting. She instantly pulls back, both of her hands stilling. "Sorry," she mumbles. "Are you in pain?" she adds, giving him a concerned once over.

His grunt contradicts his response. "No." At her look of disbelief, he adds, managing a smirk, "At least as long as you watch where you put your hands."

The wisecrack elicits an unimpressed twitch from the fingers still tangled in his hair, but she gently pulls his head down and props herself on her toes to soothe his injuries with a soft, light kiss. "How's the headache?" she asks, dropping back to her toes, her expression still full of worry.

His heart swells with a sudden wave of affection toward her. Her concern for him and the way she wants and does take care of him never ceases to amaze him. He hopes he is able to do the same for her. He reaches out to brush the back of his hand against her flushed cheek, clearing a stray curl of hair along the way, and does not try to be funny when he quietly answers. "A lot more bearable when you distract me."

She smiles affectionately, averting her eyes only momentarily from his soft gaze, then allows her fingers to slip further into the hair she had completely messed up by now. Hoping to alleviate some of his pain, she adds some pressure behind her fingers to gently massage his scalp, and when on a sigh his eyes slip closed, her fingers pause and she suddenly chuckles.

"What?" he asks, feeling so relaxed that there is no real curiosity behind his question, and it takes a moment for his eyelids to flutter open again.

"You really are a creature of habit, Lucien," she tells him, a bemused smile playing at her lips now. As if to prove her point, she resumes her ministrations and on another, although quieter sigh, Lucien closes his eyes again.

He doesn't mind this accusation. "I am," he agrees easily. "But so are you," he adds, opening his eyes only to locate her lips again. The second she responds and her hands, as expected, find his hair, he pulls back and grins at her, the raised eyebrow he offers a smug, unspoken, 'See?'

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, hush," she admonishes, then quickly goes to pick up where he left off, hands in hair included.

Laughing at her exasperation, but more than happy to oblige, Lucien decides there are worse things to be in life than creatures of habit.

THE END

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